Minun Suomi!
by Keltometer
Summary: WWII AU. Indifferent Finnish soldier Bianca Vainamoinen chances on meeting stubborn anti-fascist Lovino Vargas after the Winter War. Is it love, or just a political agreement?
1. Chapter 1

_To whom do you owe your life?_

No question could be so unfair, so difficult for any soldier to answer. Could it have been her brother? Without him she'd never have gone to war, she'd never have gone through what she had. Had it been the odd Russian fellow that followed her every step? Her parents, for giving her life and teaching her to stand up for it? Or had it been the Italian, the one man that returned the favor. The one that she had fallen so harshly in love with?

_"__Raatteen, Raatteen raja sekä puomi,__  
siihen oli kirjoitettu: "Tästä alkaa Suomi".  
Hoitamaton talvitie, ja ympärillä mettää,  
tämä maa me vallataan, tääl ei asu kettään."_

Bianca whispered the harsh lyrics to the cheery song of the previous years on the way to find a bar. It was difficult to adjust to the warmth of the new country. Why were there so many flowers? She had only gotten to the foreign country a day ago and already she saw more life than she had for two years. There was no complaining involved in the observations. It was rather quite lovely, she admit to herself. Just outside of base was a village, one that fellow soldiers claimed to have good drinking. After the hell that was the train ride, from Finland to Italy, she needed it.

_To whom do you owe your life?_

She went into the closest place that she could find, and immediately regretted it. With the amount of people that crowded in the small cantina, it was far warmer and stuffier, so much that it was uncomfortable. Taking a deep breath, she continued on and sat on one of the bar stools, looking at the bartender and then at the selection of drinks. As much as it made her sick to think of, she was in the mood for vodka. Of course, the selection was almost solely wines, with the occasional imported German beer. The bartender seemed to be looking at her with a confused look. Admittedly, Bianca was sure she had a confused look as well as she tried to read the labels of wines. "Baccanera?" She stated, phrasing her words as though they were a question. The bartender took a moment to stare at her awkwardly before turning around, frantically looking over the labels to see what she could have possibly been trying to communicate to him.

Soon the bartender decided on one, not the one that Bianca had intended, and poured it out into a glad for her. "Uh, grazie," she said, searching desperately in her head for the little Italian that she could muster. Notice was short that she would be heading to Italy, so there was no reason that she should have understood any extent of Italian. "Prego," the barman said, flashing her a sort of smile. He was a cute old man, perhaps in his fifties, with wrinkles around the corners of his mouth and a bald spot half-hidden by a hat. His suit was a dark reddish shade of purple, a shade that comically matched the lazily painted walls of the cantina. He seemed to be a kind figure, one that she might be able to get along with. As silly as she knew it was, she wanted to see whether she could befriend one of the villagers.

Without hesitation, she put the wineglass to her lips and tipped the glass. Immediately she decided that she was not a fan of wine, but she continued sipping nonetheless. The barman went his way to take care of the other people that sat in the cantina, talking loudly or smoking. It was difficult for Bianca to sustain a positive outlook on her situation. As beautiful as it was, she was not a fan of the heat or some of the societal norms she first noticed. Was it normal to speak so loudly? Surely if she had listened to the conversation going on between the woman and younger man behind her she would be fully able to. It would not have been accurate to claim that she felt discern for having left the colds of the north, however. Her wine ended sooner than she had thought, and already she was feeling slightly lightheaded. What was that miraculous drink? How did it make her feel better than the vodka or the beer on the train? Whatever it was, she decided that she liked it.

Closing her eyes, she could feel the memories of snipers and of bloodshed melt from her mind, the only aspect of herself remaining her personality. With just the one drink she began to feel the slightest bit dizzy, taller than she actually was. None of the occasional Russian or Finnish mutterings whispered under her breath made any sense. But they did, to herself in her state of being everything made sense. The way that gravity seemed to lessen made sense, that nobody else was there except herself made sense.

The effect of drunkenness on her part was short-lived, at least the physical effects. Soon she paid, accidentally too much, and left the counter, fiddling with her cap. Her business was clearly done there, and she was feeling the effects of it. She wasn't as strongly drunk as she often had been in Russia, but there was a difference between illegal and legal drinking. Either way, the headache that had pounded in her head since her arrival in Italy had melted along with her recollections of the war. On her way back to the base, she decided to continue singing her previous song, the lyrics practically second nature to her.

_"Aurinkokin länteen laski, pohjoistuuli vaivas.  
Kaalisoppa pakkiin jäätyi, kirkas oli taivas.  
Joku huusi: "Mitä jos myö lähettäiskii kottiin,  
ollaan umpijäässä, lisäks tallusteltu mottiin."_

The base seemed less lively than when she had first arrived there, since her first experience of a culture so unlike her own. It was the largest juxtaposition of her life, being there in the peace and warmth of the bosom of Italy. Sighing happily, she realized that her day was meant to be dedicated to finding her way around, but she chose to just laze in her quarters for a long while. Something about alcohol made her want to sleep off its effects. It was still fairly early in the day; perhaps ten or eleven o'clock. Oh. Perhaps the bartender was confused because of the timing. She knew nothing of Italian culture.

At roughly fourteen o'clock Bianca forced herself out of bed to find her way around the village. It would not suffice to only know where the bar was. Perhaps it would have had she not been on military business. She began her second walk of the day, ignoring the occasional confused stare. A rare sight it must have been- seeing a female soldier. There was a particular person she noticed that seemed to follow her around. A boy that ironically seemed more lost than she felt, just following closely behind her. The vibe of him wasn't entirely negative, had he been trying to cause harm he wouldn't have stuck so close to her.

"Wow!" The boy started, walking alongside her, "where're you from? I don't see soldiers here often, especially not ones with that sort of uniform." Bianca stopped in her steps to look at the boy, to address him fully. He was close to the same height as she was, perhaps a bit taller, and he had a kind face. Tino had always said that he could tell how Bianca felt by looking into her eyes, so she made it her effort to pay the majority of her attention to a person's eyes. This Italian had particularly soft eyes, as though he had no troubles in the world. "I'm from Finland." She said, unsure of how to exactly take what he said. She was wearing the typical uniform for soldiers in that area, so why was he asking her that question? Her country's population may have been small, but it couldn't be that unnoticeable.

"Finland? That's somewhere north right? I've heard it's really cold there. My name's Feliciano!" The boy held out his hand to Bianca, and Bianca took it after some hesitation. His hands were unusually warm and the handshake was unusually casual. Who was it that told her there was a tense relationship between the countries? It was surely someone, she thought, back home. It wouldn't have been the first time that she was misled into thinking silly things. "Yes, but this country's hot," she stated, glad that at the very least he approached her with English. It would've been too difficult for her to attempt to say that she didn't understand Italian in Italian.

The presence of this Feliciano character motivated Bianca to give him a slight smile. Despite the amount that he talked he was pleasant. Before she had time to register, Feliciano was being pulled away by another boy, someone that looked extremely similar to Feliciano. Neither of them could have been older than eighteen, she thought, trying to hide her amusement with the situation. "Dammit, Feliciano, stop bothering people! It's bad enough you have to bother me all the time." The other boy was obviously irritated with Feliciano for some reason, but she didn't know why. Perhaps this was how the Russians felt when she refused to speak any language than Finnish with them. Feliciano was promptly dragged away from Bianca, leaving her unsure as to what to do with the rest of her time. She was rather enjoying her first actual conversation in the new place.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a noticeable influx of German soldiers around the base about two weeks after Bianca first arrived. Large, burly figures wearing their typical green or beige uniform jackets. What interested her was that they were much ruder about their arrival than the Finns seemed to have been, often yelling at the villagers or threatening them in a language that they obviously didn't speak. Bianca was definitely biased in her opinion, having had a passionate dislike for Germans in general. But they didn't distract her from what she was there to do, so she wasn't too bothered by them. Though she tended to stick around the base when they arrived, making herself excuses to not go outside. Being able to go for a casual jog around the base was one of many benefits. Not having to do her usual job was another. Training didn't seem to suffice her desire to be back out into the field, however.

That day in particular she was on guard, despite the treaty that allied the Finns with the Axis. One of her superiors had told her that the only reason she wasn't fighting in the Continuation War was because they were wary of Germany and wanted to keep people surrounding their borders in case of an outbreak.

Drinking had been the main activity of her day, trying to acquire a liking for wine. It was disgusting, the overly sweet and sour taste to it, how dry it made her mouth feel. She sighed into her wine, expressing her regret for not smuggling a bottle or two of vodka. The bar was the same as it always had been, but there was still a certain thickness to the air that hadn't been there before. Instead of her friend the bartender –apparently a man named Aldo- there was a younger man working at the bar. He wore the same uniform but did not have the same chipper outlook. The rest of the cantina was filled with the Italian villagers and German soldiers. It was comical to her that her own soldiers were so introverted as to refuse to enter the place unless it was late at night and the bar was closing.

After paying and leaving she strolled the village more, glad that it was getting colder as the weeks wore on. It was the fourth of November, a Tuesday. Bianca was inclined to walk around the village solely because of that factor. Through a few paths lined by various trees she found a small library, and so she went it. The librarian, an older woman, gave her a soft smile as she walked it, returned by an awkward sort of nod. She didn't know what she was interested in reading about, but she knew that there had to be something of her interest to read. Most of the books were in Italian, but she was able to find a small section of books titled 'English.' The books were almost entirely travel guides, or they were novels by authors she'd never heard of. A book titled 'The picture of Dorian Grey' by Oscar Wilde piqued her interest. The cover art of the book was rather interesting, and the explanation of what the book was about caught her interest as well.

"Ciao!" A voice started, just behind her. She turned around to see a familiar Italian boy, the one that had tried to converse with her not so long ago. "Hei," she stated, looking him in the eyes. He gave her a sort of grin. "I'm sorry about the other day, my brother wanted to take me to the market so I guess I was being mean to him by talking to you, not to say that I didn't mean to! You seem like a nice person, not like those other weird people that come around here. Well, not here, people don't come to the library much anymore, which is weird because we have a lot of good books and stuff, but oh well! More for me! Well, more for my brother, I don't like to read as much as he does, but oh well!" Occasionally at the ends of his sentences he added a 'veh' sound, something that confused Bianca more than his actual words to her. Why was he rambling about himself to her? Was it a cultural thing?

"It's fine," she said, in response to the apology. Feliciano didn't talk for a few moments, blankly staring at her to see if she would continue talking, but she didn't. "You don't talk much do you? It's okay! Lots of people don't talk much. In fact, just the other day there was this mean old German soldier that was yelling at me, and I don't know why I said that because it has nothing to do with not talking much but he was really mean and scary!" Bianca laughed at this, a quiet sort of laugh. She did not mind that he was being so loud in the library, and apparently neither did the librarian.

"They're not as scary as they sound," she said, flipping mindlessly through the book she held in her hands. She didn't know this to be a fact, but it seemed to be true. Most of the Russian soldiers looked more intimidating than they actually were, so it was likely the same for the Germans. Feliciano seemed to be happy with this statement. "Veh! They're still scary, but my brother doesn't think so. He doesn't like them for some reason, either, but oh well!" He seemed to be enjoying talking about his brother.

"Oh! There's Lovi now!" Feliciano said, looking off to his left, making Bianca turn her head in the same direction. There stood another Italian boy, the same one as she had seen pull Feliciano away. Now she could properly observe him. He looked similar to Feliciano, except for the obvious fact that he seemed aggravated. An evident frown was plastered on his face. His eyes were focused on Feliciano, who waved at him, almost as though he was unaware that the other was angry. The angered Italian, named 'Lovi' walked up to Feliciano and gripped at his arm.

"Dammit Feli, every fucking time I look away for two seconds you're off doing something stupid!" The boy turned his head to Bianca, who had been staring blankly at him. "Who the fuck are you?" He asked, glaring at the girl. "Vainamoinen." It was considered appropriate for a soldier to only tell people her last name, she figured. Feliciano still didn't seem too concerned with his brother, so neither was she. The other Italian still glared at her, unsure how to respond to respond to her diction. He eventually just turned away from her, muttering the words "stupid Finn" as he walked off with Feliciano, practically dragging him away. "But Lovi" Feliciano whined, but Bianca stopped listening at that point. At that moment she made the wise decision that Italians were odd.

Bianca set the book that she was holding back where she found it and simply left the library, thinking about how her life was going to be for the next however long she would be staying. Subconsciously she found that she really did miss having her brother around, but it had been two years since the last time she saw him. Shrugging off the embarrassing thought, she went on her way towards base.

Looking to her left while walking on the now familiar path, she noticed the sun slowly setting on the horizon. She was in awe of the different colors painted on the sky: the reds, pinks, blues, golds that blended so perfectly together. Closing her eyes, she began walking off of the path, to her left. There was a fairly steep drop-off from the path that she walked down through, but she ignored the sudden stinging in her feet from jumping half-way down. The sky was gorgeous to say the least, as she had just begun to realize. Not far from the drop-off was a sort of landing surrounded by trees on all sides but where the sun was setting, so she was able to get a view of the sky. A large rock was situated among the oak trees, a comfortable enough spot to sit and watch the sun fall from the horizon. Surely it was a man-made location, but the colors of the sky made up for everything. A gentle wind blew from the west, blowing her hair softly from the two braids she kept it in.

It all felt like it was worth it. The war, moving from her home country, dealing with not knowing anything about where she was, it was all worth it to her, for the beauty that truly was Italy.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Raatteen, Raatteen raja sekä puomi,_  
_ siihen oli kirjoitettu: "Tästä alkaa Suomi"_  
_ Hoitamaton talvitie, ja ympärillä mettää,_  
_ tämä maa me vallataan, tääl ei asu kettään."_

Feliciano had been a prevalent figure in her daily life since meeting him in the library. If she went to get a drink, there he would be. If she went to the market, there he would be. If she went for a walk, there he would be. His voice was becoming deafeningly annoying to her. The only benefit to him following her around was that she indirectly was learning to understand parts of Italian. What was even odder was that whenever Feliciano tried to talk with her, his brother would appear and pull him away. Her opinions that Italians were strange had not faltered. Through body language she tried to elucidate that she was not happy with the situation, but he didn't seem to register.

November 27th, 1941, a Thursday. Bianca tried ignoring the sounds of planes flying overhead and the quiet eruption of a bomb far off. Germany was a battleground, and the noise of said battleground carried out to the Northern Italian village. Either way, she lead her day as she would have otherwise, walking to the bar.

Feliciano didn't end up going to the bar, and she was rather greeted by his brother, who was sitting there as well, drinking one of the various wines. She sat down in the only open seat next to him and ordered a wine, still butchering its pronunciation. The letter 'r' didn't roll in Italian the way it did in Finnish. The male next to her turned his head and looked at her.

"You're the one that Feliciano talks to," he started, apparently unable to find another way of greeting her. She nodded, "I suppose so." He took a sip of his wine, twiddling the glass between his fingers. "What's your first name?" Surely Vainamoinen was a difficult to pronounce name.

"Bianca."  
"What's your real name?"  
"Bianca."  
The Italian rolled his eyes, "whatever you say."  
"What's yours?"  
"I'm not telling you."  
"Alright."

The exchange was tense and awkward, neither of them had wanted to be a part of it. Bianca was given her wine, and she began sipping at it. The culture of sitting at a bar to drink wine made little sense to her. Wine was a drink reserved for fancy dinner parties with steak and actual cutlery. It still had the sour taste of rotting grapes to her, not the delicate flavor of pine nuts as had been advertised. The Italian situated himself closer to Bianca, taking a good look at her face.

"Why are you here?"  
"Why should I tell you?"  
"Just answer the fucking question, ragazza."  
"There's no need to be hostile. I can't answer that question."

There was a silence before the Italian stood up and began leaving the cantina, setting money on the counter before exiting. Soon Bianca followed after him, curious about him. She knew nothing about him, and that bothered her. It wasn't difficult to catch up with him.

"Do you mind if I walk with you?"  
"Yes, go away."

Just as Bianca accepted his desire to be alone and turned around, the Italian turned around as well and grabbed her arm. "Wait, I didn't mean it like that," he said, a sense of satisfaction shooting through Bianca. Perhaps this Italian wasn't as cold as he seemed to be. Had she broken through a barrier of his? The Finn complied with the Italian and began walking with him, letting silence take over their conversation. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, as the previous silences had been. Bianca had learned to enjoy the quiet, and also to enjoy small amounts of company. The Italian didn't appear to be distraught with the lack of verbal exchange, either.

At one point or another the dark-haired man stopped walking. He stared off ahead of them biting his lip, as though considering something. Soon he took a sharp left, travelling off of the path, motioning Bianca to follow him. With hesitation, she followed. He started leading her through a path that was blocked off with a tree branch: he moved the branch aside and replaced it when they both started on the path. The new path was narrow, so narrow that the twigs that poked out of trees scratched Bianca's jacket and boots. Eventually the path widened out to a downhill staircase. While Bianca looked concerned about the steepness of the staircase, the Italian seemed indifferent. At the end of the staircase lay a small landing, similar to the one that she sat at previously. It was larger, and it was a cliff-edge that led to a river. Around a pile of ashen tree branches were logs and cushions.

"This is festive," she said to him, following him to a cushion and sitting on the one next to him. "Shut up, it took forever to make." Overhead German planes were visible, heading east over to France. An unfriendly reminder of the war. The man next to her tensed momentarily, fidgeting in his seat. Bianca made no attempt at conversation, just staring up at the fighters. It discomforted her seeing the planes in front of the sky.

"How old are you?" The Italian asked.  
"Eighteen," she replied, staring at the fighters still.  
"This is your first base?"  
"No, I was in Russia before this."  
"Wasn't there a war there?"  
"Yes."

The Italian slumped his shoulders, a frown painting his face.

"They let you fight?"  
"Absolutely."

He was clearly uncomfortable with this fact, and he made it clear by cracking his knuckles. He sighed, sought for a phrase to continue their conversation, but he couldn't.

"What did you do?"  
"In the war?"  
"Obviously, dammit."  
"I'm a sniper."  
"How many did you kill?"

Bianca laughed, unsure of why he was asking such questions. It didn't bother her to answer them, though, it was nice to occasionally relive the memories of what felt like so long ago. For a while she sought for the exact number she had kept in her head throughout the year of being on the field. How many of those Russian bastards did she do away with?

"Somewhere around two-hundred, I'm sure."  
"How the fuck can you say that so casually?"  
"I killed no civilians."  
"That doesn't fucking make it better."  
"Let's talk about something else."

For perhaps hours they sat and chatted, relating to each other stories and tales about each other's lives. He brought up stories about his grandfather and she brought up stories about her brother. Apparently his grandfather was a respected man named Romulus that tried to force the Italian to get along with his brother. From the way he talked about Feliciano, it seemed that it didn't work. Likewise Bianca's father, Aarnekki tried to get Bianca to befriend her brother's Swedish friend Berawald. Their conversation traveled to music among other arts. Soon the sun began to fall below the horizon, but neither of them cared.

"You never told me your name."  
"Hm? Oh, it's Lovino."  
"Lovino? What does it mean?"  
"It doesn't fucking have to mean anything."  
"I suppose not."

Lovino sighed and looked up at the sun, shifting on the cushion to better his view. "What're sunsets like in Finland?" "They're pretty, but nothing like this… The northern lights are more impressive, back home." "I've heard of the northern lights, are they really all that they're cut out to be?" Bianca let a smile cross her face, "they really are." There were few things that made Bianca love her country as much as the northern lights.

"It's getting late, I should go. I have to antagonize Feliciano and Antonio," Lovino grumbled, standing up to face the path. Bianca culled the name 'Antonio' from his sentence and stood up as well. "Who's Antonio?" The question arose something in Lovino, some sort of passionate emotions. He tensed and balled his fists, "fucking nobody!" His face was red. Her curiosity piqued, but she didn't push him further. "Do you mind if I walk with you?" Lovino glared at her for a moment, but nodded anyway, gesturing her to follow him back up to the path. The stairs weren't as bad going up.

Soon Bianca and Lovino made it to his house. "You can get to the base safely? It's dark out," there was no real concern in his voice. She nodded, "yes, I'm sure I can." There was a mutual nod to each other before Lovino turned around and walked into the small house. Immediately yelling was heard. Despite not wanting to go back, Bianca managed to the base, showing the guard her identification card. The words of her favorite song played in her head.

_"Raatteen, Raatteen raja sekä puomi,  
siihen oli kirjoitettu: "Tästä alkaa Suomi"  
Hoitamaton talvitie, ja ympärillä mettää,  
tämä maa me vallataan, tääl ei asu kettään."_

_"Raate's, Raate's border and the barrier,_  
_there was a text: "Here starts Finland"._  
_Untreated snowy road and forest all around it_  
_this land we're going to conquer, no one lives here"_


	4. Chapter 4

"I swear to god please let me go back home!"  
"Why the hell would you want to go back! We're still warring with Russia dammit!"  
"Come on! It's my duty to protect my country!"

Living peacefully had become too much to handle. Being away from the warring states she grew to hate the enemy even more. She missed her M39 more than anything.

"I'll contact the colonel and he'll take it from there."  
"Thank you."  
"Why do you want to fight so badly?"  
"I'm slowly going mad just sitting here knowing that my Finland is losing the war."

The major –major Kinnunen– waved her off to go to work. It was one of the first days that she had to do anything serious. As far as she was told in the envelope enclosed in her mailbox, she was going to surveil one of her G.50 fighters and a German Messerschmitt with a .3. Presumably to avoid conflict with the French. The pilot of the G.50 was a man that she had known well, Luoma. He was with her on the train to get to Italy, another fighter in the Winter War. He was from Oulu, which was helped their relationship.

"Alright, Vainamoinen, let's get this over and done with. I'm sick of flying with the Germs." Apparently he harbored a similar dislike for the Germans. Bianca nodded and followed him into the hangar, taking the envelope from him that detailed the location of her artillery. "Don't die up there, Luoma." "I'll say the same to you." Bianca left the hangar and went to the site. It didn't have the same feel as her sniper. Forty millimeters across. Bianca situated herself and prepared to shoot. The invoice said that she was expected to take care of both planes until she couldn't see them. They were going over Northern Africa, for whatever reason. When the G.50 was up the Messerschmitt came into view, and Bianca prepared the gun. The area was in the clear for a short period before a group of French P.39 fighters came into view. Most of them were easily shot down, aside from one persistent sonofabitch that eluded her attacks. It seemed that whatever artillery was held on the ally planes didn't work either. The French fighter was determined. Wait. Bell P.39 was familiar. It was the fighter refused by Germany to be delivered to France, how the Hell did it get under their control?

Eventually the fighter was shot down, but not without the G.50 spiraling after it. Bianca left post to drive to the sight. What had happened? The Messerschmitt was the only aircraft that still frescoed the sky, traveling casually southwards. It was not far that the planes had crashed, it took little time for her to get there, to see the two planes crashed, and to see two bleeding figures. "No voi vittu!" She yelled, searching through the rubble for either body. Both men were alive, both mutilated somehow. Both men were transferred to her vehicle. Both men went to the base emergency room. The experience went by in a flash. After a good hour of sitting outside of the operation room with Luoma's family, explaining everything, Luoma was released. His left arm was replaced by bandages, and his other arm had only two fingers connected to the end. After being saluted, he was left with his family, still high on the painkillers.

Kinnunen arrived in the room after Luoma left, unsurprised by Bianca's pallid face. "He had a family, Kinnunen," she stated, expressing her dislike for the situation. "Your point?" "I'm going to fight the war, regardless of your protest." The major rolled his eyes and let out a huff of air, "I couldn't care less if you left, Vainamoinen. But if you leave without permission, you're in jail for treason." Bianca glared at him, "yes, I'll be in jail for fighting the soviets." "There's a lot more at work than you realize, lieutenant." She scoffed and left, there was nothing left for her to do there. She needed a drink. Another superior of hers caught her as she left and explained that she was furloughed for her work fighting off the French. A perfect opportunity to get drunk.

The cantina wasn't as cheery as it usually had been. The song playing was a soft American song, by Frank Sinatra. It was the song _I'll Never Smile Again_. Though the American song was playing through the radio, another, more violent song was being played by two Italian men she didn't seem to recognize. In fact, she hardly recognized the song.

_"O partigiano, porta mi via  
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao  
O partigiano, porta mi via  
Che me sento di morir!"_

'O' was the only word Bianca recognized in the song, but she found it beautiful anyway. Something about the flow of Italian made her fall in love with the language. Considering the stark lack of alcohol available, she could tell something was wrong. The prices as well had gone up, which hadn't bothered her as much as the lack of selection. Obviously it was something to do with the fascist regime, what with the anti-Mussolini propaganda posters displayed here and there. She ordered a wine, trying to not concern herself with Italian politics. The effort was due to the fact that Bianca still thirsted for bloodshed after the plane incident.

4th January, 1942, a Sunday. Lately the days had been going by more quickly, and Lovino had been busier than he had been in the past six months. He hadn't gone outside so often, and when he did it was only to go out on a mission of some sort. The resistenza was becoming stronger with every breath, so Lovino had to carry missions out more carefully. Police activity had increased in the area like rapid-fire after Duilio shot four police. Duilio was killed in the action, which was better for him than being killed by the resistenza. It was a stupid move on his part, and he faced just consequence. Italy was still stumbling with its economy after the autarky, and produce was greatly cut back. Market items in general were cut back. The economy was dropping and dropping hard. The Spanish Civil War made him hate Antonio, the Spanish bastard. Not because he cared about Spain but because of the Italians that died during it, for the lire that it cost his country.

"Grandpa, I'll go to the market," Feliciano grinned, skipping out of the house, not giving Romulus time to say no. The only people left in the house at that point were Antonio, Lovino, and Romulus. "That boy's been acting weird," Romulus observed, staring at the doorway where he had left. "He's probably just still in shock from Duilio, nobody expected that to happen. Besides, Feli was closer to him than any of us." Antonio always had the answer. It bothered Lovino. Lovino stood up with his usual frown, glaring at Antonio before saying "I'm leaving too," Lovino said, wanting to be away from them too as soon as possible. It was alright being with them when Feli was there, but they acted differently with him gone.

Antonio looked at Romulus, standing up as well. Not to leave with Lovino, but to pull something from his back pocket. "Here," Antonio started, handing it to Lovino, staring him in the eyes. "I want you to teach Feliciano how to shoot." Lovino's shoulders slumped. He looked over to Romulus, who was holding the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. "I'm not teaching him how to use a gun, why don't you, you bastard?" Antonio looked distraught with something, "please, just show him how to use it. Things are changing, he needs to know how to protect himself." Lovino took the gun and glared at Antonio, finally complying with the Spaniard. If it could save his brother, he would do it. "Damn bastard, never telling me anything."

As Lovino left, he noticed a dark spot imbued his grandfather's face. How had he not noticed it before? What was it? He left nonetheless. "God dammit Feliciano wait for me!" Lovino said, making Feliciano jump and squeak, "gah! Fratello, you don't have to scare me like that!" He groaned and sighed, unsure of how to bring up the gun. Feliciano was sensitive. At the moment, he also seemed to be nervous about something.

"What is it?"  
"You're nervous about something."  
"No I'm not! Why would I be! I'm just heading to the market like a good boy!"  
"Feli, we both know that the market is closed on Sundays."  
"Oh, is it? I never knew that. It should be, who doesn't like to get an orange after church?"

His brother was so immature. "Listen, Feliciano, I want to give you a present." Feliciano's face lightened, he looked excited. "Yeah, but let's go over this way to give it to you, it's something special." Lovino hated having to beguile his own brother, but it was for his own good. He looked warily at two police that were patrolling that section of the plaza.

Soon they reached where Lovino wanted to give Feliciano the gun, a few kilometers outside of the village. "Alright, Feli, you can't scream when I give you this. I'll teach you how to use it, okay?" "This better not be something scary, Fratello. I remember when you gave me a rat, I'm still scared that I'll find him in our room!" "It's not a rat, idiot." Lovino pulled Antonio's gun from his pocket, feeling the other pocket to make sure his own gun was still there. His brother's eyes widened, and he looked frantically at Lovino for an answer.

"What's this supposed to be, Lovi?"  
"Don't call me that, Feliciano, it's a gun."  
"This isn't a very good gift, but you tried."  
"Dammit, Feli, you have to take it and always keep it with you."  
"Are you kidding me? I don't know how to use a gun!"  
"Which is exactly why I'll teach you."

Feliciano was initially obstinate, but eventually understood that it was serious and gave it his best effort to learn to use it. The first time that Lovino let him try to shoot a tree, Feliciano fell back from the recoil.

"Are you kidding me? That's a pistol, how are you possibly hurt from that?"  
"Fratello! This is scary, I don't like it!"  
"Feli, you have to do this, okay, just try again."

Again and again Feliciano attempted shooting the tree, and only after the third success did they stop. The older brother considered getting Bianca to teach him, but he knew that neither of them would go for it. How long had it been since he'd seen her? Two months? Where could his favorite Finn possibly be? Would she have just left without telling him? Feliciano could see the expression on his face, and he frowned. "What's wrong, brother? I'm getting good at this!" He didn't falter his innocence, which was relieving. "Nothing, Feli, let's just go home, okay?" Feli nodded, smiling. Though, underneath the smile there was another emotion, something unrecognizable.

Lovino took Feliciano home, but he wasn't done wasting the night. The younger brother was more than excited to show his grandfather and Antonio the things Lovino taught him. In Feliciano's rambles, Lovino was able to slip out of the house without any of them noticing. He walked off into the dark, managing his way to the path that now reminded him of Bianca. His mind flooded with the worst thoughts. She told him there was another war going on in her country, had she gone back to fight it? Was she dead? How did she die? He shook these thoughts from his head. He didn't care, why would he?


End file.
